The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,110

can’t believe you beat me,” I groan, sitting in the driver’s seat of my rose-gold Maserati with Windsor in the passenger seat, Creed behind me, and an empty spot where Miranda would be if she weren’t making out with Jessie Maker in the back of Brianna Chow’s yellow Mustang.

Tristan leans on the driver’s side door of the car with the most self-satisfied smirk I’ve ever seen. Just looking at it makes me want to either punch him … or grab his face and kiss him until we both can’t breathe.

“You’re second in the class, still a major accomplishment,” he drawls, standing up straight and stretching his arms above his head. “For a Working Girl, I mean.”

“Haha, very funny,” I say as I turn the key in the ignition and start up the engine. As third-years, it’s our right to use the beach house at the Royal Pointe Lakeside Lodge. We’re going to make an appearance, and then get the hell out of there. Tristan’s family’s main house—the Vanderbilt Manor—isn’t too far from there, and his dad’s overseas on business.

He’s invited us all to hang out there for a few days instead.

Considering I almost died at Royal Pointe last year, I’m okay with skipping out after a few hours.

Charlie’s already okayed the trip, so I don’t worry about that. What I do worry about is the fact that Lizzie’s going to be there, too. As the last few weeks of the year rolled around, she started hanging out with him more and more, to the point that I struggled to find a moment of alone time.

He leans in and brushes a smoldering kiss to my lips.

“Oh bloody hell, can we go already?” Windsor asks as Tristan steps back. Zayd’s waiting next to his own car which is parked beside Zack’s, waving at us as I grin and pull out of the parking spot, trying my best to avoid getting killed by the dozens of other students eager for their summer break. “Finally. Thought you two might get hitched right on the spot.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes, push my sunglasses down, and head for the winding road that I remember from last year. The Maserati hugs the curves just as well as Andrew’s Lambo, and in just a few hours, we’re pulling into the same parking lot where I was assaulted by the Company/Harpies. In my head, I’ve started calling the boys the Company, and the girls the Harpies. Is that sexist? It’s not meant to be.

Trust me: I hate them all equally.

We put the top up on the car, leave our luggage, and take the funicular—that weird ass elevator thing I was so disturbed by last year—down to the beach.

The ‘guest house’ is no less impressive than the lodge, just slightly smaller. It has soaring ceilings, walls of windows, and several balconies with roaring firepits.

We take up the topmost balcony, roasting smores, and drinking (alcohol only for those who aren’t driving) and gather our new team of Bluebloods around us. It’s hard to miss the Harpies watching us from the corner, the few Company boys they have left surrounding them.

Tristan has done a damn good job of setting us up for next year.

Hopefully, I won’t have to focus on bets, revenge, or forgiveness during fourth year. Frankly, I just want to spend my time in the arms of the elite, the five beautiful boys who have so completely and utterly turned my world around that just the thought of choosing between them makes me sick.

But, eventually, I’ll have to.

Because nobody in the real world has five boyfriends, particularly not when all five of them have familiar obligations or careers they have to uphold. Even if they didn’t, no man wants to share a girl forever.

I just try to enjoy whatever time I have left.

“Dance with me?” Zayd asks after he’s down at least three smores. I take his hand and let him pull me into the house and the throbbing bass beat. People clear out of our way, and I can feel the envy in their gazes as I switch between Zayd and Creed, Zack and Windsor.

Tristan stands aside and apart, sipping from a glass of what I hope is water and not vodka, his steely gaze focused on me. He seems almost … sad? But that can’t be right. He just beat me for the first in three years. I tell myself it’s because I took on too much with cheerleading and orchestra and tutoring, but … really, it’s